


All Is Fair In Bean Sprouts and Love

by twerkinshield



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pranks and Practical Jokes, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twerkinshield/pseuds/twerkinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Lydia have owned and managed the Stilinski’s Sprouts food truck and they’ve managed to build up an impressive following through the years, even with the Argents’ fancy steak truck always trying to put them out of business. So when the Hales start to muscle in on their territory with their new little truck full of greasy diner food, all hell breaks loose. In the midst of the chaos, Derek tries to flirt with the cute co-owner of the veteran vegan food truck, only to be interrupted by everything under the sun. Naturally, misunderstandings, pining, and hijinks are the only way things can be settled properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlitterAnts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterAnts/gifts), [wolfbeater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfbeater/gifts).



Stiles pushes the ball cap further back on his head as he flips the piece of fried tofu sizzling away in the deep fryer, eyeballing the crowd milling around outside his food truck. His dad grouches away behind him as he slathers the house-made mayo on pieces of toast.

“I still don’t see why I have to help out with your weird ass vegan truck of death.”

“Because it’s healthy and wholesome and _delicious_ and it’s taking good money from urban hipster babies so quit your whining and I may make some coconut frozen yogurt later for you.”

“With the toasted almonds on top?”

“Yes with the toasted almonds on top.”

“…. Alright whatever.”

“You’re so easy to buy.”

“You’re bribing the _sheriff._ That could be illegal in some places you know.”

“That’s a mere technicality my dear, he’s bribing his _dad_. Not the sheriff. No official uniform, no official sheriff,” Lydia smoothly interjects, deftly mixing the red berry vinaigrette dressing.

The sheriff harrumphs and turns back to his task, grumbling about the lack of red meat on the menu.

Stiles had ended up in culinary school after finishing the hell that was highschool. Keeping his hands moving and his mind churning had proved to be a blessed skillset for cooking and had ended up with him firing off a message to Lydia, after she finished her double major with honours at Yale, and she became his financial advisor and part-time chief of marketing.

The _Stilinski Sprouts_ food truck had garnered even more of a reputation for delicious food – locally sourced of course – after Scott and Isaac had gotten at it with their paintbrushes. Now, the cheerful neon green sprouts of Stiles’ truck have become a roaming landmark to both locals and tourists alike.

Now it’s worth noting that they are not the only food trucks around. Everyone who is anyone is always at the main square of Beacon Hills trying to sell their food and grab all the customers. Some people use greeters, some people use stickers and freebies, Stiles prefers little bite-sized samplers, and some people simply throw cash at the mayor and steal the prime locations, just because, why the fuck not? Not that Stiles is talking about the Argents and their goddamn elitist steakhouse on wheels, nope, totally not doing that. It’s just that Chris and his terrifying – I mean, _lovely_ – wife, Victoria, just _happen_ to be besties with the big man in charge of Beacon Hills. It’s totally a coincidence.

Moving on.

The main competition between _Stilinski Sprouts_ and _Argent’s Silver Steaks,_ started back a few months, when the Argents decided to set up shop in Stiles’ usual spot in the square. He’d gone and introduced himself, hi hello how are you? And Victoria Argent had given him an icy glare that made the arctic, look like a sauna. She hadn’t had a permit to even be in the square and, Stiles being the outstanding citizen that he has always been, had even offered to go get them a day pass from city hall until they could get a permanent one. Chris had politely declined and instead called a friend: that friend being the mayor. Allison had come and smoothed things over, much to Scott’s eternal delight, and the two had been flirting outrageously from the get-go.

Fast-forward to present, and Stiles’ new permanent spot is located right across from the fountains where all the pigeons go to shit on unsuspecting pedestrians.

“Stiles! We need some eyes over here!”

“Lydia my queen, we are _vegan_. We don’t sell or eat anything with eyes.”

Lydia glares at him, “No you loser, Allison just sent me a text. Some new food truck hotshot is trying to muscle in on our territory. Some pathetically grubby looking diner-style meat stand.”

“Oh thank god!”

“ _Dad no_.”

“What?” the sheriff shrugs, the very picture of innocence.

“I said no!”

“And I didn’t say anything!”

“No but you were thinking it.”

“Thinking what?”

“That you’d volunteer to go scope the place out for us.”

“Well if you insist.”

“Dad! _Dad!_ ”

But the sheriff is already jogging over to the new truck across the lane.

Stiles and Lydia both lean their heads out the window, deftly passing the food to the customers waiting patiently in the lunch line.

“So that’s the new competition huh,” Lydia mutters, her face dangerously contemplative.

“Yep, guess so. I hope it’s not another vegan truck.”

“Vegan? Oh honey, with that colour truck and that logo design, it’s so obviously not a vegan-friendly place.”

“That explains why dad likes it so much.”

“Oh, you mean _Hungry Like The Wolf_?” asks Jordan Parish, his dad’s deputy, eagerly accepting his deep fried tofu burger.

“Is that what it’s called?” scoffs Lydia.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve only been there once but it’s pretty good. Lots of red meat.”

Stiles gasps in mock outrage, “You come into _my_ house and disrespect _my_ delicious food?”

Agent Parish sends him a rakish grin, “Oh I come here for more than the food.” And walks away with a swagger.

“That’s not gonna get you a discount here pal!” Stiles yells back, his cheeks flushed.

Lydia smirks knowingly; “Wow, he’s so thirsty for you.”

“My dad will have his balls if he tries anything in front of him.”

Lydia ruffles his hair affectionately, “That’s not an excuse for why you’re single.”

“Wow,” he snarks back. “This coming from someone who is also single and who once dated Jackson Whittemore of all people!”

“You shut your face Stilinski.”

“Make me, dollface.”

Lydia shoves a strawberry into his mouth, and then saunters over to the till and deftly unrolls a sleeve of quarters into the box.

Stiles leans out of the window again, trying to catch a glimpse of the truck.

What he sees is an gorgeous brunette woman, probably late twenties, wearing a tight black t-shirt with the truck’s logo emblazoned in red on the front, manning the till and calling out orders to the workers scurrying around the kitchen behind her. Stiles watches his dad stride up to the counter to pick up his order of what looks to be the single most massively greasy double-bacon cheeseburger in the history of all mankind.

The girl who hands it to him is younger than the first, her light brown hair pulled back into a sedate ponytail and standing a full foot shorter than the other woman, probably in her teens. She smiles and hands the sheriff his greasy deathtrap – his dad looking like she just handed him the keys to heaven – and yells back at someone in the kitchen.

Stiles nonchalantly walks out the side of the food truck under the pretext of checking the awning that shades the front of the truck, fiddling with the clasps and hooks that keep the fabric from falling on the condiment table. He’s just organizing the pickled cucumbers and the numerous bean salads when he catches a glimpse of the mysterious third worker.

And hot _damn,_ is he fine.

The man looks like he just stepped off a vogue runway photo shoot for hot rugged lumberjacks. His beard is dark and thick, with just the right length for someone to rub against enough for a bit of beard burn, with dark eyebrows drawn down in a perpetually suspicious expression – like someone is going to try to take this customer’s order right out of his hands. The wide shoulders and deliciously muscular arms make Stiles’ mouth water – the easy, confident gait of the handsome stranger making his knees weak – and the delicate way he flips the sweet potato fries into the basket gives Stiles a ridiculously inappropriate reaction. His plan goes to shit when his dad accepts the basket of fries with a smile and happily points over to where Stiles is not so inconspicuously lurking, causing Stiles to flail and trip over the table into the truck.

His face burning, with Lydia’s delighted peals of laughter ringing in his ears, Stiles retreats into to the truck and parks himself in front of the till.

Great. The competition is fucking _hot_.

 

~~~

 

It takes a great deal of coaxing from the sheriff to get Stiles to make him his coconut frozen yogurt, accepting the scolding about fraternizing with grace and a total lack of guilt. At the end of Stiles’ rather impressive tirade, he simply apologizes and offers his son the last of the sweet potato fries. The traitor.

It isn’t until Scott comes around later to help clean up – Allison choosing to come over that particular moment with delicious steak leftovers – that he realizes that Lydia texted everyone about the new guys. Including Stiles’ reaction to Mr. hot-BBQ-burger-lumberjack-model dude.

“I think it’s good!” says Allison, offering a piece of steak to Scott. “It’s been a long time since you and Danny broke up, so it’s good that you’re getting back in the saddle!”

Lydia scoffs, “Honey, he just about fell out of the truck when sir hotness waltzed out with his greasy fingers.”

“At least we know Stiles likes his face!” Scott says happily, a sunny smile gracing his face.

“True, but it’s not like Stiles has a lot of game beyond sass, good cooking, and pop culture references,” Isaac says, in such a matter-of-fact voice that Allison slaps him upside the head.

“That was good enough for Danny and _he_ was such a picky little thing, I swear to god!” Lydia grouses.

“Uh, guys? I’m _right here_.”

“I mean it’s not like his fashion sense is any better,” says Scott, continuing on like Stiles is invisible. “He still wears those t-shirts he got from Comic Con six years ago.”

Stiles bristles, “Hey, those are a set of classics! Do not disrespect the con!”

“Okay, so his fashion sense could stand to be updated,” Allison says, wiping her hands on a napkin. “But other than that, he’s a real catch!”

“ _Thank_ you Allison! Just for those kind words, you get the first deep fried Mars Bar.”

Allison smiles up at him sweetly from her seat on the picnic table, “Thanks Stiles!”

“You are most welcome my dear!”

“Stiles.”

“Scott.”

“Stop avoiding the subject.”

“Stop disrespecting the sanctity of my con t-shirts.”

“… Fine.”

“Alright.”

“Now, now children, play nicely,” Lydia chides. “We’re here to set Stiles up with hot lumberjack chef, not to talk about his complete lack of fashion.”

“Alright that’s it, the tip jar is _mine_ today.”

“And his lack of brain-to-mouth filter.”

“First of all how dare you- “

“It’s not my fault your dating game is practically non-existent babe.”

“… Point taken. That still doesn’t change the fact that he looks to be painfully heterosexual. I mean most guys don’t rock the whole full-beard thing unless they’re the manliest of men.”

“Stiles what could be more manly than two dudes boning each other?” asks Scott.

“That was also incredibly heteronormative of you Stiles,” Lydia sighs. “And besides, no straight man wears shirts _that_ tight.”

“Alright, another point to the Ginger Goddess. The fact remains that he’s out of my league and I want his dick.”

Isaac wrinkles his nose, “Thanks for that imagery.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles smiles insincerely. “Now, about changing my fashion without changing me… who’d like to design t-shirts with a _Stilinski Sprouts_ logo on them?”

Lydia and Allison raise their hands so fast Scott gets knocked to the floor and Isaac gets clipped in the head.

 

~~~

 

It isn’t until two days later that Stiles first meets mysterious hot lumberjack chef.

He’s kneeling in the dirt in his city-owned plot of vegetable garden at the downtown earth projects, handling the freshest of their own produce and planting new vegetables as he goes. Stiles grabs the juicy beefsteak tomatoes – glowing a deep red in the late evening sunlight – and carefully piles them into his produce basket, layering them delicately with carrots and peas. The spaghetti squash and cucumbers are piled together in his shopping bag, while onions, bell peppers, shallots, and mushrooms are carefully separated into individual containers to be cleaned later. It’s only once Stiles starts trying to dig up the golden potatoes and yams that he runs into trouble.

“How are you this difficult?” Stiles grunts, tugging fruitlessly on the roots, “I just want my fucking potatoes goddammit!”

“Don’t grab the flowers,” a deep voice says behind him. “Try the knots at the base.”

Startled, Stiles loses his grip on the vegetables and falls backwards. Except instead of landing on his butt in the dirt, he ends up sitting in the lap of someone big and warm and equally as covered in dirt.

“Woah! Hey, didn’t see you there! Oh god, I am _so_ sorry I’m not usually this much of a klutz, I swear! Well, that’s not totally true, I’m usually _more_ of a klutz. I mean, that one time in the food truck, I totally got bored and tried deep frying a whole turnip but I _meant_ to do that so– “

“It’s alright.”

“– And I just, wait what?”

“I said it’s alright,” beardy guy says, the corners of his mouth twitching up at the corners. “Did you really deep fry a whole turnip?”

“Yeah, it didn’t turn out so well.”

“Didn’t think it would. I’m Derek by the way, Derek Hale,” says Derek, the tips of his ears flushing a delicate pink.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski. It’s a mouthful I know, not my real name but still my full name is like three mouthfuls, so I consider it a semi-improvement.”

“Great. Could you, um, do you need help getting up?”

It’s at this point that Stiles realizes that he’s still got his ass planted firmly in Derek’s lap, which is not a terrible position to be in, but still embarrassing nonetheless. He scrambles up from his spot on the ground to stand up, brushing the soil and some stray seeds from his clothes as he does. Once standing firmly on two feet, Stiles tries his best to brush the dirt off of his knees and bends over, nearly knocking heads with Derek in the process.

“Whoa! I guess you really weren’t kidding about being a klutz,” says Derek, warily keeping Stiles from bashing heads with him. “How have you even survived this long?”

“By eating right and not getting caught causing mischief.”

“I guess it helps when your dad is the sheriff.”

“Pfft,” Stiles scoffs. “It certainly doesn’t help that he’s about a thousand times more suspicious of his own son than he is of any other citizen of Beacon Hills. That and my mom was the one who got me hooked on veggies when I myself was just a young sprout.”

Derek smirks, “Eating right? So your mom brainwashed you into being a veggie freak huh?” He snorts and glances down at his own dirty jeans, completely missing the look of pure anguish on Stiles’ face at the mention of his mother. “So you’re a health freak _and_ a mama’s boy? Wouldn’t have pegged that in a million years.”

Stiles laughs hollowly, watching the handsome asshole in front of him dust his jeans off haughtily. “Hah, mama’s boy. Right. Listen, I have to go because I have a, uh, thing I have to do. Have fun pulling roots.”

Stiles ignores Derek’s surprised face and gathers up all his produce and stomps over to the jeep, his hands clenching tightly onto the basket and his body all but vibrating with pent-up rage.

Figures the hot new guy would be a dick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s one hell of a catch I’ve gotta say,” Jordan had laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looked over to watch Stiles hand over a customer’s food.
> 
> “Right,” Derek said tightly, not wanting to give any signs of jealousy. “A real catch.”

Once Derek gets back to the truck, a massive basket of potatoes and carrots in tow, Laura immediately pounces on him for an explanation.

“So, why is the plaid-wearing-hottie spitting mad?”

Derek blinks. “What.”

She rolls her eyes exasperatedly, “You know? The hot guy with the moles and the pretty eyes and the plaid that owns that vegan death trap across the street? The sheriff said he was going to get more produce from the community gardens before the dinner rush and he left looking happy, but he came back looking like he wanted to murder kittens.”

Derek shrugs, equally as confused, “I don’t know! One minute we were talking about proper yam pulling techniques and then he was running away smelling all pissed!”

“What did you say this time?” asks Cora, taking the basket out of his hands and smirking, her wolf hearing picking up her brother’s quickening heartbeat.

“What? Why would _I_ have said anything?”

Laura laughs, “Uh, how about because you have this rather unfortunate tendency to put your foot in your mouth when talking to people you’re attracted to? I’m pretty sure your brain is hardwired to insult your romantic conquests.”

“I am _not_! And besides, we were talking about regular stuff when he ran away.”

“Derek,” Cora interrupts, hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t be so calm when saying that someone cute _ran away in the middle of a conversation with you_.”

Derek scowls – feeling the tips of his ears turn red – and pushes past them to get to the grill, grabbing an apron on the way.

“Just go apologize to him,” says Cora. “He seems nice!”

“But I don’t know _what_ I’m apologizing for!?”

“Oh my _god_ you’re useless.”

 

~~~

 

Stiles slams the fridge door shut, plunking a bowl of marinated spaghetti squash onto the table.

“Okay, what happened?” Lydia demands, her tone brooking no argument.

“Hot beardy lumberjack is a rude asshole.”

The redhead squints suspiciously, “Care to elaborate?”

“The dude over there in the weird diner truck is an insensitive asshole. He was there when I was picking up new produce and insulted my mom.”

“Stiles,” Lydia says slowly, “not to be disrespectful or anything, but does he actually even know that your mom is dead?”

Stiles stops stirring the bowl of dressing in front of him and ponders the question, “well, no. But he was being a condescending dick about it though.”

“Right. Well then. We’ll just have to do some more reconnaissance on him then and his weird sisters then.”

“So they _are_ his sisters? How did we find that out?”

“Your father, the meat loving traitor, and his recon mission of betrayal.”

“Ah yes, I’d nearly forgotten. No ice cream with toasted almonds on top for him then.”

“Oh! Speaking of which,” Lydia grabs her ever-present notepad and flips the page, “the ice cream machine has been acting weirdly since this morning and I can’t figure out if something is stuck or if it’s broken. Maybe you could take a look?”

Stiles narrows his eyes, the ice cream maker is notoriously reliable and it’s extremely out of the ordinary for it to be acting up, “when did it start being weird?”

Lydia scrunches her nose in thought, “Maybe, just after the lunch rush? Sometime between when you were cleaning up and when you were out getting the produce.”

“Hello? Are you still open?” a voice calls from the open window.

“Let me get to the bottom of this,” promises Stiles. “You go handle the customer.”

 

~~~

 

Lydia walks up to the window, her customer-service smile set firmly in place, only to balk at the older brunette from the new food truck.

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

“Some information, preferably,” mystery woman responds.

“I’m sure,” Lydia replies icily. “What about?”

“Well, my name is Laura Hale, and my idiot younger brother was at the community gardens a little while ago and was trying – and failing – to flirt with your co-worker. Apparently he’s under the impression that he hasn’t done anything wrong, but he’s a total failure with romance so I figured I’d check out how badly he’d done.”

“He insulted Stiles’ mom.”

“Oh,” Laura smiles, relieved. “Well that’s not as bad as it could’ve been. He’s kind of blunt about things- “

“Stiles’ mom died when he was ten,” Lydia interrupts brusquely.

She watches smugly as the colour swiftly drains from Laura’s beautiful face.

“Now, can I get you anything?”

“Um… my brother’s dignity?” Laura laughs weakly.

Lydia slams the window shut.

 

~~~

 

“I’m pretty sure being a rude dick is genetic with that family,” Lydia snarls, slamming the sweet potato fries into the fryer basket.

“Welcome to the club,” Stiles chuckles, packing up his toolbox. “So I managed to get the ice cream machine working again, turns out there was a bolt that had fallen out and down into the tumbler system. That’s where the weird sound was coming from… but there’s one thing that’s bugging me.”

“What?”

“The only way for that screw to fall out would be for someone to open the back hatch and loosen it manually, otherwise the plating keeps it in place. Did anyone come in to visit while I was gone?”

Lydia blanches, “Nope, I was here the whole time.”

“You sure? It would’ve only taken a minute to open the hatch and loosen the screw.”

“Well, I did run over to the bank to put our morning earnings into the savings account.” Lydia shifts uncomfortably, “but your dad was sitting at the salad bar watching over the truck the entire time.”

Stiles sighs, “Yes but was he watching the _truck_ , or was he watching the _baseball_ game on his phone?”

Lydia slaps a palm to her face, “shit.”

“The plot thickens,” Stiles whispers ominously.

 

~~~

 

Two weeks later, with several dozen not-so-discreet glances in Stiles’ direction, Derek is no closer to finding a way to apologize for his social blunder. Considering he’d nearly sliced a finger off when dicing onions when Laura had told him about what happened to Stiles’ mom, it’s understandable that he’d reach an emotional impasse about what to do to rectify the situation.

The only bits of information he’d been able to glean had come from the sheriff – regularly sneaking over to get the greasiest burgers possible while his son is away at the community gardens, and reeking of guilt the entire time – and from his young deputy. Derek is fine with chatting with the sheriff, the man appreciates a good burger and straightforward conversation after all, and he gets a plethora of familial anecdotes from the sheriff about his odd son.

From Stiles’ dad he gets stories of pet toads and other strange woodland creatures and a multitude of visits to the principal’s office. Stiles has a long and accomplished record, both in and out of school, for causing mischief and orchestrating long and complicated pranks on both friends and enemies alike.

But Derek’s particular favourite is a story directly from Jordan Parrish from when Stiles had been a year away from being of legal drinking age, and had gotten caught having a few beers with his friends by the lake. The, then newly minted, deputy had been called in by some nosy neighbours to investigate the young hooligans partying down by the lake, and he had walked right up to Stiles – nursing a half-full beer and looking totally calm – and told him to drop the bottle.

Naturally, Stiles gave absolutely no fucks whatsoever about any consequences.

After several attempts to look stern and intimidating while telling Stiles to drop the bottle, Stiles had simply stared him down as he calmly sucked back the entire beer in one long gulp. Parrish had cuffed Stiles, all while listening to Stiles’ friends laugh themselves silly, and had taken him to the station for underage drinking. Of course Stiles – knowing full well his dad was out on a patrol – had taken the opportunity to use his one allotted phone call to order a pizza to the police station, only to get in more trouble.

Derek had listened to Parrish tell the story, fondly recalling the way he’d had to listen to the sheriff yell at his idiot son through the cell bars while Stiles continued to nonchalantly stuff his face with his ill-begotten pizza. Parrish cackled as he recalled desperately trying not to break character and laugh while writing his report. Derek only bristled near the end of the story, ending with Stiles flirting with Jordan through the bars and trying to seduce his way out of the cell.

“He’s one hell of a catch I’ve gotta say,” Jordan had laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looked over to watch Stiles hand over a customer’s food.

“Right,” Derek said tightly, not wanting to give any signs of jealousy. “A real catch.”

Derek had then gotten the supreme agony of a front row seat to Jordan striding confidently up to _Stilinski’s Sprouts_ and calmly flirting with Stiles through the window. Derek had scrubbed harder on the burnt bits on the grill, and cursed his superior werewolf hearing for being able to eavesdrop in on every single part of their conversation, Stiles flirting back and sassing the hell out of the young deputy.

“Keeping out of trouble I hope Stiles,” Jordan smirked. “Wouldn’t want to see you in cells again.”

Stiles chuckled seductively, “Why? You gonna handcuff me officer?”

Jordan had choked on his soda in the face of the suggestive comment, going pink in the cheeks and coughing, “well somebody’s feeling frisky today.”

“Only if you’re the one doing the frisking deputy Parrish.”

Jordan had burst out laughing, Stiles looking immensely pleased with himself from inside the truck, and Derek felt like shoving his head into the deep fryer.

That had been nearly a week ago and Derek was still no closer to finding the right way to apologize for his blunder, and his options were limited.

That is, until the weather gave him the perfect opportunity.

 

~~~

 

Stiles was fighting a losing battle with his root veggies when Derek pulled into the gardens, kneeling with his hands in the wet dirt trying to pry out the single largest turnip the wolf had ever seen in his entire life. The sky looms ominously overhead, grey and purple clouds billowing angrily in the wind and the air crackling silently with tension, the pressure before the storm. Derek slowly pulls his own basket and his dig tools out of the car and quietly contemplates the best way to approach the situation, when his thoughts are interrupted by a loud snap and the smell of metal and dirt mixing, a soft cry of distress coming from the human.

“No no no no no no no!” Stiles cries, his voice tight with anxiety, and his scent radiating despair. “I just- this can’t be happening!”

Derek drops his basket without thinking and jogs over, “What happened? Are you okay?” subtly checking for injuries as he stops.

Stiles barely glances at him in his worry, “It’s my mom’s gardening kit! She gave it to me before she died and the whole thing just came apart when I fell back and, and, this can’t be _happening_!” his voice breaking quietly on the last word.

Derek looks down at the kit in question, the metal of the box painted fire truck red and fading with age, the lid snapped off at one hinge and barely hanging onto the remaining hinge. The rusted screws keeping it in place look older than Derek and about as sturdy as tin foil, but the obvious distress in Stiles’ voice keeps Derek on from commenting on it.

“I can fix it.”

“What?” Stiles asks, his fingers running gently over the broken pieces.

“It looks like my dad’s old toolkit that he has in his garage. It seems familiar enough, I mean with the pieces and all. I could bring it in and fix the hinges and bend the metal back into place, make it good as new?” Derek smiles weakly, his hands twisting in his t-shirt anxiously. “It’s the least I can do for being such a dick last time we were here.”

Stiles looks at him suspiciously, as though wondering what Derek’s angle is, before sighing explosively and starting to take the tools out. “Alright,” he says, his scent sharp with nerves. “But you’d better not mess it up.”

“I won’t,” Derek promises, his heart lifting.

“I mean it!”

“I know. Do you want me to repaint it?”

Stiles stills momentarily before continuing to empty his box, “Only if you can find the exact same shade of red.”

“I promise,” says Derek, smiling softly. “Um, I have an extra wicker basket in my car, if you need another place to put your tools?”

“Oh,” Stiles says, unsure. “Well, only if you don’t need it?”

“No I’ll be fine. Besides, we’d better hurry if we don’t want to get caught in this storm.”

“Right, well hop to it then Sourwolf.”

“Derek.”

“What?”

“Call me Derek.”

Stiles grins up at him impishly, his hair sticking up and dirt smeared all over his face, amber eyes positively glowing in the late afternoon light, and says, “Alright Derek, you gonna get me that basket sometime this century?”

Derek’s heart skips a beat and he can practically _feel_ his tail wagging as he jogs back to the car to dig out his old produce basket.

 _Oh_ he’s got it bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what I was thinking in terms of gardening stuff but my dad has this big-ass red toolbox that he uses for repairs, and it’s the kind of old metal contraption that looks like it’s straight out of the 50s and that’s what I’ve been picturing when I say the gardening kit broke??? Idk I’m dumb and sentimental lmao


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In true Stiles fashion he goes completely overboard when actually trying out the recipes at home during a rain soaked week where absolutely no one is out buying street food. His dad has fled the building under the pretense of going over some cold cases back at the station, but in reality Stiles knows it’s because he’s absolutely sick to death of pumpkin.

The next few weeks bring cooler weather and orange leaves falling from the trees. Brisk enough to be sweater weather, but still warm enough for the food trucks to be out and in full force at the main square. Of course, Stiles gets a bit too into the season and goes all out one slow day by making an entirely new fall inspired menu, with pumpkin flavoured everything. Lydia vetoes half of it due to gross combinations, and looks sceptical of the rest.

“What? Pumpkin flavoured lo mein will be great!”

“Right,” she scoffs, looking ready to throw up in her own mouth. “How about you go test out whether or not those recipes will even be good before you decide to run us out of business with pumpkin-mania?”

Stiles salutes her enthusiastically, “Mais oui!”

In true Stiles fashion he goes completely overboard when actually trying out the recipes at home during a rain soaked week where absolutely no one is out buying street food. His dad has fled the building under the pretense of going over some cold cases back at the station, but in reality Stiles knows it’s because he’s absolutely sick to death of pumpkin.

He tries using canned pumpkin pie mix first, to see about easy storage on the food truck. It works well enough, at least until the entire house positively _reeks_ of pumpkin and his dad is spending more and more time camping out in the police station than he is in his own house. Eventually Stiles recruits Scott into helping him out, knowing full well that Scott can never say no to Stiles or free food.

“Here you go Scotty!” says Stiles, carefully spooning the delicately spiced orange broth into a bowl.

 Scott sniffs at the bowl delicately, “Oh my _god_ ,” he moans. “What even is this?”

 Stiles preens, “It’s a lobster bisque but with a creamed pumpkin infusion.”

Scott demolishes the bowl and looks mildly heartbroken when he realizes the soup isn’t endless. So Stiles quickly swaps out the dish for a plate of deep fried pumpkin chips, before moving on to check the spicy jalapeño pumpkin seeds roasting away in the oven.

Scott nibbles at the chips, looking contemplative, “So, what’s the deal with you and Derek?”

Stiles nearly drops the entire jar of paprika into the sauce bubbling away on the back of the stove in his flailing, “What do you mean?”

 “Well Lydia seems to think you guys have something going on?”

Stiles snorts, adding a pinch of pink Himalayan salt to the sauce, “Nah we’re cool now. Turns out he had no idea she was dead. His older sister came over to apologize afterwards and it turns out he nearly chopped his own fingers off when she told him about it.”

“Oh,” Scott smiles, crooked and perfect. “Well I was actually talking about your big gay crush on him but whatever you say.”

“Scott oh my _god_ ,” Stiles flails, dropping the soup ladle noisily back into the pot and slopping sauce all down his apron. “Look what you made me do!” but Scott just grins unrepentantly while Stiles pouts at the mess.

“Who has a big gay crush now?” asks the sheriff, coming through the door with a massive box of yellowing case files.

“Dad! There’s, no one. At all. With any kind of big gay crush, I just, what would even make you _think_ about gay crushes?” In the back of his mind, Stiles vaguely recognises that he’s being anything _but_ subtle, but he just can’t seem to stop the train wreck coming out of his mouth. “Dad do you have something you want to tell me? Come on we’re all going to be very supportive of you, you know that.”

His dad just looks at him and sighs, clearly not even phased by the outpouring of nonsense from his weird son, and asks Scott, “is it about that shy beardy guy on the Hale’s food truck?”

“Derek? Yeah that’s the guy.”

 “Scott you _traitor_.”

Scott just shrugs, calmly scooping up the last of the pumpkin seeds into his mouth and crunching away, “Hey you should try these seeds. Super spicy and they’d go really well with a nice beer.”

The sheriff actually looks tempted, despite knowing it’s _more_ pumpkin food, “I’ll try some in a little bit Scott. You kids have fun, I’m gonna dump these in my office and then the TV is mine for the game.”

“Dad you’re a terrible person and you need to get laid.”

His dad just chuckles, “Son, what makes you think I’m not already _getting_ laid?”

Scott and Stiles both start screaming in horror as the sheriff walks away.

 

~~~

 

After Scott leaves for work, Stiles flees the house to ponder the Mystery of His Dad’s Possible Hookup, capital letters intended. The rain is drizzling now, permeating the air with the scent of wet leaves, chilled air, and the rich hickory of burning wood coming from several chimneys down the street. Stiles breathes deeply and heaves his borrowed basket of tools into the jeep, cursing the lack of sturdy metal he’s used to.

“Stiles! Where are you going in this weather without a jacket young man?” a familiar voice scolds fondly from the garage next-door.

“Melissa my darling love my queen what makes you think I don’t already have one packed?” Stiles coos, not even having to look up from his basket to know that Scott’s mom is standing there in the open garage with her arms crossed.

She laughs, “Because I know you kiddo, and I know that it’s probably the last thing on your list since you seem to think that that grungy red hoodie you’re always wearing will keep you warm even in the event of a freak blizzard apocalypse.”

Stiles turns around and places a hand over his heart in mock offense, affecting an expression of shock, “I am _appalled_ that you would think this family heirloom wouldn’t keep me alive! How _dare_ you impugn the Stilinski’s honour!”

Mrs. McCall simply smiles and shakes her head fondly, wrapping her housecoat more securely around herself and covering up her pajamas, “Well make sure to bring over some of those jalapeño pumpkin seeds that Scott is gushing about, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am! My gourmet home delivery is at your eternal service!”

Stiles watches her walk back into the house before throwing his dad’s old hunting jacket into the passenger seat, wondering about the house coat that Melissa had been wearing. Maybe she just woke up after working an overnight shift? But it’s one of her fancier silk robes…  that she only wears when she’s got special company or going on a date. The last time she even wore it was when Scott and Stiles had been watching her get ready for her date with creepy Peter ages ago… Is she even dating anyone? Oh well. Stiles ponders the issue briefly and then moves it to the back of his mind in favour of his dad’s hookup.

Who could it be? It can’t be any of the ladies working at the station because Stiles is regularly there and would notice any extra… _attention_ from them. It can’t be Mrs. Murray from the deli across from the station either, seeing as how she’s got her eye on Scott’s dad, which, _ew_. Running out of ideas, Stiles does the one thing he knows always works: he texts Lydia.

_Hey have you noticed anyone flirting with my dad lately?? He said he’s_

_getting laid and looked actually serious about it when he got home from the station this afternoon – S_

_No? Haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. And besides, I didn’t know he was at the station – L_

_??? What do you mean?? – S_

_Well his cruiser wasn’t there at all today… I would know considering Allison and I were getting our nails done at the spa across from it. We even got the good chairs at the front near the window –L_

_But… if he wasn’t at work all afternoon then where was he?? – S_

_Ever heard of afternoon delights? ;) –L_

_LYDIA NO THIS IS MY DAD WE’RE TALKING ABOUT HE’S OLD AND HAS NO GAME WHATSOEVER –S_

_Whatever. Stiles you’ll just have to accept that he’s getting some action right now and you’re not. But you could if you’d only put on your big boy pants and get some of hot lumberjack’s dick –L_

_Honestly that’s just rude :( -S_

_:) –L_

Stiles shivers in disgust and tosses his phone into the cupholder of his jeep before climbing in to the driver’s seat. His drive to the community gardens is fraught with conflicting feelings about his dad dating again, considering how long it’s been since mom died, he doesn’t know why he’s so skittish about things. Stiles fiddles with his phone in while waiting in the Dunkin Donuts drive thru for his coffee, eventually deciding to suck it up and ask Derek for advice. If only to see his irritatingly attractive face once more.

_Hey are you busy? –S_

_No? Why? –D_

_Wanna help me pick some pumpkins at the gardens? :) –S_

_And what’s in it for me Mr. Vegan –D_

_My presence alone should be cause for delight good sir ;) –S_

_I’m sure –D_

_RUDE. Also I need a 3 rd party opinion about my dad –S_

Stiles quickly takes the coffee from the service worker and goes to park in one of the free parking spaces to finish his conversation with Derek, burning the tips of his fingers on the hot cup as he goes.  He opens his phone again to several fairly confused texts from Derek.

_Your dad? What about him? –D_

_Hey r u still there? –D_

_Is he ok? R u ok? –D_

_Lmao calm down I was just in the drive thru you nerd. Also what’s with the text speak? Are we in highschool again? :P –S_

_Pfft. Like I’d ever suffer through highschool hell ever again. But really, what’s up with him? –D_

_Talk more at the gardens? I’ve got some coffee for you as a reward ;) –S_

_Alright I’ll be there soon –D_

Stiles laughs at Derek’s monotone texting and then starts the car once more, peeling out of the parking lot at break-neck speed and weaving through the rush-hour traffic to get to the gardens.

 

~~~

 

Pulling into the parking area, Stiles grabs the tray of coffee and his phone and drags his tool basket out of the back seat one-handed before jogging towards the massive pumpkins he has on his lot. He’s pretty damn proud of his pumpkins, considering he’s using the oldest trick in the book to get them bigger. Milk-fed pumpkins are an easy trick and as long as there’s an IV of the stuff attached to the vines of each vegetable then they’re guaranteed to grow big enough to use as Cinderella’s carriage.

 He tosses his phone into the basket and carefully places the tray of coffees on the wooden fence before rolling up the sleeves of his red hoodie, and squatting on the ground next to the second largest pumpkin.

“This looks promising,” he murmurs, kneeling down and rapping his knuckles against the shell sharply. “You’re gonna be delicious Mr. Pumpkin, just as long as we can actually get your fat ass off the ground and into my jeep.” He gently runs his hands over the bright orange rind and heaves it back and forth, using the lopsided craters for leverage but not lifting it more than an inch off the ground. Similarly, rocking it back and forth does nothing to help.

“Honestly this is ridiculous,” Stiles grouses. “All I want is delicious pumpkin! Is that too much to ask for?” and in a burst of rage fuelled adrenaline, mightily heaves the colossal pumpkin onto his lap.

But, like many other things in Stiles’ life, his plan completely backfires when his balance is thrown off while kneeling.

The force of lifting the pumpkin into the air throws him backwards and off his heels, the momentum carries him back to land flat on his butt in the moist dirt, pinning him underneath the massive fruit amongst the other pumpkins. Of course, this is the exact moment that Derek decides to show up, rolling into the parking lot in his beat up pickup truck and staring out the window like he’s a model in a goddamn music video.

Derek smoothly gets out of the vehicle and zips up his hoodie, striding over nonchalantly to Stiles’ plot, and promptly bursts into delighted peals of laughter.

“Alright, laugh it up Hale,” Stiles growls.

Derek wheezes, bent over with his hands on his knees and gasping for breath between hysterical bouts of laughter. Even in his current predicament Stiles can appreciate the beautiful laugh lines around the other man’s eyes.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY YOU DICK HELP ME UP!"

“Oh I will,” Derek says, still giggling. “Just give me a minute.”

Stiles frowns, “No, wait! What are you doing? Don’t you dare! Don’t you- DEREK PUT THAT PHONE DOWN!”

But it’s too late. Derek’s already pulling out his phone and taking pictures of Stiles pinned on his back and flailing underneath his massive produce like an overturned turtle, still snorting with mirth the entire time.

“As soon as I get out from under here you’re dead.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Derek coos mockingly. “Cinderella not having a fun time at the ball?”

Stiles smiles sweetly and throws a solid clump of dirt at Derek’s crotch, listening with great satisfaction as the other man wheezes in pain at the impact.

“Alright, alright,” says Derek, pocketing his phone. “I sent it to as many people as I could. I’m good for now.”

And before Stiles can come up with a witty reply, Derek swiftly strips off his hoodie and hefts the pumpkin into his arms, muscles bulging deliciously under the weight and Stiles’ brain decides to take a brief sojourn into the peanut gallery at the sight. Once freed from underneath his prison, Stiles quickly rolls over and pushes himself up using some other pumpkins as leverage. He turns just in time to see Derek putting the pumpkin carefully into the back of the jeep and onto the towel placed on the seat.

Momentarily distracted by the wonderful sight of Derek’s shapely jean-covered rear, Stiles fails to watch where he’s walking, trips over another pumpkin, and face-plants into the dirt.

Derek turns around and sees Stiles lying prostrate on the ground, and sighs fondly, “You’re not having a good day are you?”

Stiles sighs, resting his chin on his hands, “Nah I totally planned that. It’s part of my new gardening routine, it helps turn over the soil and then pack it back in.”

At Derek’s raised eyebrows and disbelieving expression Stiles cackles and carefully gets to his feet.

“Honestly the last time I was _that_ uncoordinated was when I was first growing stuff and I tried pulling out this monster onion,” Stiles brushes the dirt off his khakis. “Pretty sure I got a bruised tailbone after yanking that beast out of the ground.”

Derek scents the air, taking in the subtle scent of spices and fresh soil clinging to the other man, and flushes pink, “Well that’s probably because onions are disgusting. Devil food really.”

Stiles looks up from his preening with a horrified expression, “Who even _are_ you? Were you raised by wolves or something?” and goes back to brushing himself off, completely missing Derek’s mildly panicked expression.

“Uh, something like that,” He stammers. “My sister probably qualifies because of her manners alone.”

“Right,” Stiles says, suspiciously drawing out the word. “So you don’t even like onion flavoured things?”

“No.”

“Onion rings?”

“Nope.”

“Sautéed onions on a burger?”

“Gross.”

“French onion soup?”

“Disgusting.”

Stiles clutches his heart in mock offense, “Honestly I came out to have a good time and I’m just feeling so attacked right now.”

“So I insult your nasty onions and get memes instead?” Derek smirks. “Seems fair.”

“Oh my _god_ you’re a meme lover, there is hope for you yet!” Crows Stiles, handing Derek his coffee.

Derek smiles gently at the barb, sipping at the hot coffee in his cup and moaning delightedly, “thank god you got me cream and sugar. Everyone I meet seems to think I drink only black coffee.”

“Gee,” Stiles drawls, pointedly giving his black V-neck t-shirt and jeans a once-over. “I wonder what could’ve given them _that_ impression?”

The werewolf shyly nudges his arm and grins companionably, “Oh shut up.” They sit on the fence for a while, sipping their coffee in a comfortable silence, before Derek remembers the reason Stiles had asked him there.

“So you wanted to talk about your dad?”

Stiles chokes on his coffee, “Right! About that. So, I think my dad is getting laid and he hasn’t mentioned dating anyone in ages, so I don’t really know what to think?”

Derek freezes, remembering the distinctly feminine scent of perfume clinging to the sheriff the last time he’d been over to order a burger. The subtle tones of vanilla and honeysuckle had been barely noticeable over the smell of the frying meat, but they’d definitely been there. He’d been unable to definitively place it, like trying to remember the obscure name of an old childhood TV show, until the sheriff had shown up with a beautiful dark haired woman wearing scrubs the week before. They’d ordered their burgers and split a milkshake like love-struck teenagers outside in the crisp fall weather before the woman had kissed him goodbye and left.

Derek sips his coffee contemplatively, decided whether or not – or even _how_ to broach the subject with Stiles – seeing as how his last foray into Stiles’ personal life had been less than successful.

“Well, I’m not sure who it was, but your dad came for burgers and a milkshake with some lady last week.”

Stiles frowns, “just _one_ milkshake?”

Derek nods, “yeah, they shared it like couples do on a date. Two straws, holding hands, the whole nine yards.”

“What did she look like?” Stiles leans in, intensely focused.

“Uh,” Derek flushes to the tips of his ears and decides to just go for broke. “Well she was probably about his age, dark curly hair, tanned, um, wearing scrubs…”

Which is when Stiles snaps to attention and jumps into Derek’s personal space, shocking the wolf into attention, “Wait, scrubs? Did she look like Scott?”

“Your friend with the crooked jaw?”

“Yeah him.”

Derek, slightly unnerved by the intense look Stiles is giving him, meekly responds with, “I guess? I mean she kept looking around like someone was watching them so maybe it was her? Your dad called her Megan, or Melanie, something like- “

“Melissa?”

Derek perks up, “Yeah! That’s the name!”

Stiles sits back on the fence in shock, his scent fluctuating between disgust and excitement.

“Are you… okay?” Derek asks quietly.

“ _OH MY GOD MY DAD IS BONING SCOTT’S MOM_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh legit pumpkins are technically a fruit but more specifically a berry?? ok bye 
> 
> also helloooooooo yes i am indeed sheriff x melissa trash B)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Scott. You’re a goddamn werewolf. You can literally smell people’s emotions and hear their heartbeat to tell if they’re lying. You’re so oblivious.”
> 
> “You’re the Sheriff’s kid and you say I’m oblivious? Pot calling the kettle black much?”
> 
> “Yeah but I at least have the excuse of being a pathetic human so don’t judge. You on the other hand, have all your fancy wolfy senses to get you through life, so don’t you sass me mister!”

Stiles does what any mature adult with a big secret to tell their friend does. He hides out in a stall in the men’s toilets at the local bar where he’s doing karaoke with Derek and, well after his fifth beer, drunk dials Scott.

“OH MY GOD SCOTTY! MY POOR VIRGIN EARS!”

Scott sighs at his friend’s usual antics and holds his phone at arm’s length as he refills the spray bottle of cleaning solution at the vet’s office, setting down his cleaning rag to put his friend on speaker to avoid any further hearing loss.

“Stiles what- ”

“MY DAD IS BONING YOUR MOM.”

“… what.”

“THE HORIZONTAL MAMBO, MAKING THE BEAST WITH TWO BACKS, THEY’RE GETTING IT ON SCOTT!”

Scott blinks, morbidly curious, “Stiles how on earth did you come up with this theory? Is it legit or are you just drunk theorizing again?”

“No! I mean yeah so I was doing some digging because my dad seemed so serious right?”

“Right.” Scott slows his cleaning supplies to listen carefully.

“So I texted Lydia and she and Allison had been at the nail salon all afternoon and- “

Scott frowns, “The one across from the station?”

“Yes exactly! And his cruiser never showed up! Even though he left us mid afternoon. So of course next I texted Derek and- “

“Wait how did you get Derek’s number?” Scott interjects gleefully.

“Scott it’s rude to interrupt honestly, who raised you? Wolves? ANYWAYS. So Derek and I are talking at the gardens and apparently last week he saw my dad and your mom having a cutesy romantic date in front of his food truck. Like one milkshake, two straws, holding hands, the whole nine yards. And then they made out for a bit before she went to work. We’ve been so blind.”

“Well, I knew my mom was acting differently, but I wasn’t too sure.”

“Scott. You’re a goddamn werewolf. You can _literally_ smell people’s emotions and hear their heartbeat to tell if they’re lying. You’re so oblivious.”

“You’re the Sheriff’s kid and you say _I’m_ oblivious? Pot calling the kettle black much?”

“Yeah but I at least have the excuse of being a pathetic human so don’t judge. _You_ on the other hand, have all your fancy _wolfy_ senses to get you through life, so don’t you sass me mister!”

Scott dumps the used cleaning rag into the garbage and heaves the fresh basket of surgery towels onto the counter, “Yeah but keeping in mind we’ve got a bunch of random wolves here that make up our ragtag pack with a few, uh, _notable_ , humans on our side.”

“Notable my ass, Scott this is weird!”

“We might be brothers! Like legally!”

“I… never thought of that actually.”

Scott gasps in mock outrage, “Dishonour on your cow!”

Stiles laughs, “I have a vegan food truck I don’t have a cow you loser!”

“Well still, you know Derek can tell you like him right?”

Stiles pauses, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Dude his entire family is made up of werewolves. He’s a beta.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah I thought you knew? You’ve known about me for ages so why didn’t you recognize him?”

“Because… uh,” Stiles falters, feeling his face heat up. “I was too focused on his other… um, assets, to be honest.”

“Oh my _god_ Stiles,” Scott guffaws.

“Shut up nerd, I’m gonna grill my dad about it later, but thanks for none of the help,” then Stiles makes an exaggerated kissing noise and hangs up without any warning.

Scott just laughs and goes to wash his hands.

 

~~~

 

The next day sees Stiles opening his truck at the ass crack of dawn to get his food prep ready while nursing a massive hangover. Chopping cabbage, dicing onions, slicing potatoes, and refilling the condiments table. The dreaded pumpkin dishes make their appearance throughout the morning once Lydia arrives and approves them as she tries each plate, and the menu is changed once Erica arrives to redesign the chalkboard outside.

It’s nearing the lunch rush when Erica finally climbs into the truck to help with the orders and the cashbox – having spent the morning handing out pamphlets advertising the updated fall menu – and so begins the busiest part of their day.

“Let’s hope people aren’t sick to death of pumpkin flavoured everything,” the blonde says, pulling her long tresses into a messy bun before donning the new _Stilinski’s Sprouts_ t-shirt, designed courtesy of Allison.

“Hey! My recipes are solid gold!”

“Still, the only thing we’re missing is pumpkin spice lattes and we’d be every hipster’s dream food truck,” says Lydia as she breezes by with a tray of bite-size samples.

Stiles tosses a greasy slice of fried potato chip at her freshly laundered skirt as she squeals indignantly.

Like clockwork, Deputy Parrish arrives right on his lunch break at noon for his usual order.

“You know normally I’d accuse you of only flirting with me for my food,” Stiles teases. “But my food is as amazing as my ass so it’s a toss up.”

Jordan moans around a bite of marinated spaghetti squash before cheekily replying, “Well I’d happily eat both so you’re not wrong.”

Erica and Lydia burst into laughter, delighted at the deep shades of red dusting Stiles’ cheeks, “Oh my _god_ Jordan you filthy heathen!”

The deputy only smirks up at Stiles before licking his lips seductively and heading over to one of the park benches to eat.

Of course this is exactly when Stiles looks up and happens to lock eyes with Derek from across the square, the human’s eyes wide and his face flaming as he remembers his conversation with Scott about Derek being a werewolf. Hoping beyond hope that Derek’s super hearing didn’t hear any of the filthy conversation, Stiles waves jauntily and dramatically blows a kiss in the wolf’s direction.

Derek smiles sweetly before pretending to catch the kiss – watching Stiles’ incredulous face at the disgusting display of affection – before throwing the invisible kiss into the blender and starting the machine. He and his sisters laugh at Stiles’ horrified face before turning back to their own cooking.

And if Stiles plays _Who Let The Dogs Out_ a bit louder than usual, well, who can blame him?

 

~~~

 

Stiles is in the middle of grilling some lettuce and mixing a lemon and parmesan dressing when the radio changes from music to a brief interlude about a recent string of murders around Beacon Hills.

 _“Beacon Hills police department has just announced the beginning of an official investigation into the series of mysterious deaths in the surrounding woods-“_ Stiles wipes his hands on his jeans and turns up the volume of the radio. _“Prior to yesterday’s latest murder, the original culprit was thought to be a rogue mountain lion roaming too close to the city’s borders. However, new evidence found at the latest crime scene has turned up a possible link to a human suspect. Sheriff Stilinski has made an official statement.”_

Stiles squints his eyes, turning down the grill and flipping the lettuce pieces before listening in more closely to his dad’s voice filtering through the speakers, _“As of now this investigation is being treated as a homicide, with the intent of reopening the previous deaths under the assumption that we are dealing with a possible serial killer in Beacon Hills. At this time we ask for anyone with any information about suspicious persons seen in or near the woods to come forward, and I urge everyone to exercise extreme caution when walking alone. Thank you.”_

The radio quickly switches from the grim story back to the catchy tunes of whatever the station’s top ten tracks are, leaving Stiles to ponder the mystery of the murders at hand. He eyeballs Jordan – making his way back for his customary scoop of coconut ice cream – and decides to ask an inside source.

“Hey Stiles, I’ll have- “

“Your usual ice cream, yep, coming right up. Listen, I just heard about those murders in the woods… you guys got any leads yet?”

Jordan narrows his eyes at the cook, knowing of Stiles’ insatiable need to be at the center of every morbid case, “Why do you ask?”

Stiles shrugs, completely serious for once, “Well I was driving by the woods near Dupont circle along the south side last night and I had no idea all this was going down.”

Jordan freezes, “And _what_ exactly were you doing there last night?”

Stiles scoffs, “Relax dude, I’m more of a mischievous intent kinda guy, not a murderous woodsman. I was bringing back a pumpkin from my plot at the community gardens and then went for drinks with a friend afterwards.”

“What friend?”

Stiles nods his head to the left before tossing the lettuce in the fragrant dressing, “Derek Hale.”

The deputy blinks owlishly, “You went for drinks with Hale?”

Stiles sighs irritably, “Look I know we play flirt a lot but I didn’t think you’d get this touchy about me and him.”

“Hey, easy, that wasn’t why I was asking,” Jordan says quietly, wanting to placate his friend. “We had an anonymous tip early this morning positively identifying Derek Hale around the area we found the body in. I just needed to make sure his alibi with you was solid.”

Stiles snorts good-naturedly and hands over his phone, “See for yourself pal, I texted him a little after five yesterday and we met up at the gardens not fifteen minutes later. He wasn’t out of my sight until like one in the morning when we finally left the bar. There are even some super dorky pictures we took of ourselves together doing karaoke.”

Jordan scrolls through the texts and quickly glances at the photos before handing the phone back, “Seems legit. I’ll pass it along to your dad when I head back to the station. Heads up though, he’s probably going to call you and grill you about everything. Also, you should send him those photos.”

“When does he not grill me?” Stiles snarks, handing the deputy his ice cream. “On the house,” he says when Jordan reaches for his wallet. “Just, lay off of Derek ok. He’s a good guy, he’d never hurt anyone.”

Jordan smirks knowingly, “Ohhh boy, you’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up and go do your civic duty Mr. Policeman! You keep up this kind of behaviour and people will think you’re just a stripper in a cop outfit!”

Once Jordan leaves – laughing into his ice cream – Stiles leaves the last of the food handling to the girls for the last few stragglers grabbing their lunch, tossing his apron onto the hanger and heading over to see Derek.

It’s obvious when he gets there that Derek is having a less than stellar day, between the obnoxious customers and the possible hangover.

“Howdy stranger! How are the filthy meat loving residents of Beacon Hills today?”

Derek scowls thunderously at him, angrily flipping a burger, “Starving and annoying as fuck.”

Stiles’ face falls, “Oh, um, is this a bad time? I can come back later if you want…”

Derek glances up at his crestfallen face and sighs explosively, “Nah, just give me a second to finish this order and then I can take a break.”

Stiles nods, grabbing a thick slice of tomato from Derek’s work station, and sits down on the step down from the food truck’s entrance. He casually eyeballs Derek as he eats the tomato – a thick, juicy beefsteak delight – and marvels at the miracle that is the man’s flexing biceps. Derek finishes putting the toppings on a burger that looks bigger than a newborn child and hands it over to the even larger man waiting for it outside, before wiping his hands on his apron and turning back to Stiles.

“Laura! I’m taking my break!”

“Bro we’re not some fancy workplace, you don’t get any work mandated break!” Laura all but snarls, her face flushed in the heat of the truck and the tail end of the lunch rush. “Get back here and mix these meat patties or I’ll- oh, hi Stiles! Want a burger?”

Stiles puts a hand to his heart in mock horror, “Ex _cuse_ me what kind of vegan do you take me for?”

“The cute kind with an ass that won’t quit?”

Derek chokes on nothing and turns scarlet, “Laura!”

“What? Hey if I have to do all the flirting _for_ you then I fucking will!”

Stiles laughs, delighted at the sibling banter, “Hey at least _one_ of you knows how to flirt properly.” Of course Stiles only laughs harder when Derek turns to look at him, obviously taking offense at the insinuation that his flirting skills are less than fantastic.

Stiles opens up his phone to look at the selfies of him and Derek at the bar and says, “Well I suppose Derek’s flirting isn’t too bad considering he wasn’t too embarrassed to do karaoke with me until the wee hours of the morning yesterday,” and winks at the wolves.

It’s only when he looks up from his phone that he realizes something is amiss, glancing between the Hale siblings’ frozen postures and hard expressions.

“You guys were really at karaoke last night?” Laura asks, her tone brooking no argument and absolutely no jokes.

Stiles shrinks back instinctively at the obvious Alpha Voice, “Yeah, we were at _The Barking Frog_ until like, what? Maybe one in the morning we left? I know we left our cars in the lot because we split a cab ride home, but yeah, karaoke and a couple rounds of beers was our poison of choice last night.”

Laura just blinks slowly, her gaze narrowing in with laser like focus, before nodding, “Good.”

“Good?”

Derek sits down on the step beside him with a heavy sigh, “One of your dad’s officers came to our house first thing this morning to question me. Specifically where I was between the hours of eleven PM and three AM. He didn’t seem like he believed me when I told him about our night out and how I basically passed out as soon as I got home. Laura knows exactly when I got in.”

“How? Does she have super hearing or something?” Stiles asks shrewdly, already knowing the truth.

“Or something,” Laura snorts. “Derek came in through the front door, shut and locked it, and proceeded to walk right into the coffee table near the living room. Thereby knocking the lamp over and shattering the light bulb. I’m pretty sure everyone on the block knew he was home.”

“ _Why_ do we even have a lamp there? It just gets in the way,” Derek grouses.

“Well we have photos to back up our drunk singing escapades last night and they all have timestamps so I’m not too worried about alibis to be honest,” Stiles says nonchalantly.

“Photos?” Laura asks gleefully.

“Stiles _no_.”

“Stiles _yes_!”

The human in question simply cackles and says, “Stiles is keeping these for evidence because he’s sending them to his dad, a.k.a. the sheriff, as proof of Derek’s supposedly dubious innocence in a murder investigation.”

Derek sighs explosively before putting his face in his hands, “Oh thank _god_.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t send them to you at the same time, what’s your number Laura dearest?”

The ensuing scuffle has Stiles nearly in tears from laughing, what with Derek tackling him and trying to steal his phone and Laura yelling out her phone number in the background. And if Stiles gets a little hot under the collar from the delightful manhandling then, well, who’s to know?

“You smell spicy,” Cora says as a greeting, unceremoniously dumping her backpack under the till counter.

 _Right_. Fucking werewolves and their ability to smell emotions and arousal.

“Well I am a zesty conversational partner so it could be my natural _je-ne-sais-quoi_ of life,” Stiles quips, Derek’s arms still encircling him gently in a mildly threatening hug.

“Derek was out getting drunk and singing karaoke with Stiles last night!”

The youngest Hale snorts derisively, “I call bullshit.”

“Stiles has photographic evidence that he’s sending to the sheriff.”

Cora’s face lights up maniacally, “Can I see?”

“No!” Derek growls, one hand flexing around Stiles’ right bicep and the other around the left wrist 

Stiles snorts before gently extricating himself from the increasingly tight grip, “Relax Sourwolf, your singing secret is safe with me.”

Laura stiffens in his peripheral vision, and changes the subject with more tact than Stiles thought she had, “Wait, how did you find out about the investigation? And about Derek’s involvement?”

Stiles shrugs, snagging another tomato slice and adding copious amounts of salt, “My dad was real jittery this morning and Jordan came over at lunch just as I was hearing about the case on the radio. My dad made a statement and it weirded me out because that’s real close to where Derek and I were last night, but only in passing because of how long we were at _The Frog_. Jordan got all weird about it too when I mentioned who I was with.”

Laura frowns, “Jordan?”

“Formally known as Deputy Parrish,” Stiles corrects. “He’s been working with my dad for ages so he’s legit. He totally chilled out once I showed him the pictures from last night and made me promise to send them to my dad ASAP.”

Laura and Cora share an inscrutable look while Derek relaxes into Stiles’ personal space, their legs tangling together on the step and the wolf’s hand unconsciously squeezing at Stiles’ knee.

“Well as long as everyone knows that Derek’s innocent,” Laura declares firmly, turning back to the skillet. “He just has one of those faces that makes people think he’s a bad guy.”

Stiles turns towards Derek and grins before reaching up with his free hand to tweak Derek’s nose, “Aww but he’s just so _cuddly_ and _cute_!”

Stiles tries not to lean too much into Derek’s warm chest when the wolf pulls him close for an intense bout of tickling, but it’s a lost cause once Derek wraps his arms around him from behind to hold him still before roughly scrapping his beard up and down Stiles’ cheek just to listen to the human squeal delightedly.

Stiles has never loved scent marking so much in his _life_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, The Barking Frog is an actual bar in my hometown. It’s got great drinks and even better live music with the occasional terrible karaoke sessions which I obviously know nothing about. Nope. Nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s terrifying,” says Stiles.
> 
> “I know!" Lydia snarls. "Who would want to sabotage our truck like this?”
> 
> “Well I mean I was talking more about how your voice sounded sickeningly sweet but your face said murder, but okay.”

“Soooooo, daddio, got a question for you.”  
  
The Sheriff lowers his newspaper to glare at his offspring in what he hopes is an intimidating way, given the suspicious tone in his son’s voice.  
  
“Alright, but one question for you first.”  
  
Stiles frowns, “What?”  
  
“Why are you wearing my police uniform?”  
  
Stiles waves the handgun around in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner, “Relax dad the gun’s not loaded, the outfit is just for the effect.”  
  
“And what effect would that be?”  
  
Stiles shifts on the balls of his feet and shakes himself off, standing firmly and doing his best impression of his father in full Sheriff mode, “Son. Is there anything you want to tell me? Someone new in your life perhaps?”  
  
To his credit, his dad turns a very fetching shade of pink and proceeds to hold his newspaper just a bit tighter, but he doesn’t deny the accusation.  
  
“Why don’t you tell me about what’s going on with you and Derek before you point any fingers at me?”  
  
Stiles just rolls his eyes and calls his father’s bluff, “We’re doing the do in my food truck of course, what did you think we were doing?”  
  
His dad proceeds to choke on his coffee before avoiding eye contact, “Well, uh, son… I just want you to know that, things are, well as they stand- “  
  
“Scott and I already know about your super duper romantic date with Melissa, you sly dog,” he adds with a grin.  
  
The Sheriff looks surprised before scowling, “I knew Derek would give me away.”  
  
“Don’t blame him for wanting me to be happy dad, Derek just likes me better!”  
  
“Yeah alright kiddo just get the hell out of my uniform.”  
  
“But I feel so _powerful_ \- “  
  
“ _Now_.”  
  
Stiles smirks, “Can I go see Derek wearing the uniform?”  
  
“ _Stiles!_ ”  
  
  
~~~  
  
The next morning sees Stiles walking to his garden, not noticing anything is amiss until he takes stock of his vegetables. Turnips apparently dug up and half eaten, half of his carrots vanished entirely, and a pumpkin bashed in and crushed into the dirt. Between a delicate cocktail of rage and confusion, Stiles picks up what is salvageable and unspoiled and fills his food basket before heading to the food truck.  
  
Even from across the square Stiles can tell something is wrong.  
  
Stepping out of his truck in the parking lot, he sees Lydia walking in increasingly anxious circles around the truck. Stiles grabs the basket of produce and walks quickly over to her.  
  
“Hey! Why do you look like someone just hid a body under the truck?”  
  
Lydia gives him a dirty look and snarls, “Because four flat tires is more inconvenient than a dead body.”  
  
“What.”  
  
“Well right _now_ it is!”  
  
“I don’t know what to focus on more: the fact that we somehow and for no reasonable explanation have four flat tires, or the fact that you would be less inconvenienced by a corpse under the truck,” Stiles says, eyes wide.  
  
“Stiles!”  
  
“Alright, alright!” Stiles puts his hands up in surrender. “Jesus, just trying to lighten the mood here.”  
  
Lydia sighs explosively, running a hand through her auburn curls, “We’ll have to be closed for the morning. We need to get someone out here to change the tires or the rims will get bent completely out of shape and it will cost us more to repair everything! We can’t afford to take a hit like this!”  
  
“Alright, I’ll call Jordan and see if he knows anyone who can help” says Stiles, bending down to check out the deep puncture marks in the tires.  
  
“Already on it,” says Lydia flipping through a small notepad full of calculations. “He’s sending his friend over right away.”  
  
“… You’re kind of terrifying, you know that right?”  
  
“I do. And Jordan also knows that the sooner we reopen the sooner he gets his tofu burger fix.”  
  
“Point taken, alright well help me lug these groceries up to the table so I can at least prep them in the shade where they won’t go bad so quickly.”  
  
Jordan’s friend arrives in short order and gets to work on swapping out the ruined tires for fresh ones, extremely motivated by Stiles’ occasional food samples and Lydia’s not inconsiderable wrath. Stiles takes a break to help him move the punctured tires into his service truck and to help install the new ones. It’s only once they’re doing a final once-over of the food truck’s stability that the mechanic voices his true concerns.  
  
“Well everything seems to be fixed,” he says, Greg, according to his name tag. “The balance is fine and none of the rims have been bent so that’s definitely a plus.”  
  
“And yet you don’t seem happy,” Lydia says, her voice edged with suspicion.  
  
Greg looks over, clearly startled with the observation, “Yes, well I – well, it’s just that…”  
  
“Don’t worry she’s mostly harmless,” says Stiles encouragingly.  
  
“ _Stiles_.”  
  
“Hey I said mostly!”  
  
Greg sighs, wiping the grease off his hands, “it’s just that these kinds of puncture marks aren’t typical of an old tire or from glass or metal shards. It’s a sign of tampering.”  
  
“What?” Stiles asks, shocked.  
  
“These marks? They’re deliberate, someone chose to do this and planned out where they would puncture the tires. They obviously did their homework too, judging by how quickly the air left” Greg admits, grudgingly admiring of the perpetrator’s handiwork.  
  
“Do you know what would’ve been used to do it?” Lydia asks sharply.  
  
“Could be any number of things,” Greg shrugs. “But my best guess? Either a nail or really sharp knife will do the trick. I mean, any of the knives you have in your truck would work, as long as it’s regularly sharpened it wouldn’t be hard.”  
  
“Damn,” Stiles swears, running his fingers through his hair. “Wait… so feasibly it could have been anyone with a food truck in this area?”  
  
Lydia looks up sharply and Greg looks uncomfortable, “I mean it’s definitely a possibility but I wouldn’t want to point any fingers.”  
  
“We understand,” Lydia says, her face the pinnacle of customer service pleasantry. “Thanks for your help, it was _greatly_ And here’s a gift card for our truck, come by anytime!”  
  
“Much obliged ma’am,” Greg tips his cap and quickly heads out.  
  
“That’s terrifying,” says Stiles.  
  
“I know! Who would want to sabotage our truck like this?”  
  
“Well I mean I was talking more about how your voice sounded sickeningly sweet but your face said murder, but okay.”  
  
Lydia glares at him, “The point still stands! How are we going to handle this? Do we report it to your dad? Interrogate all the other food truck owners around here?”  
  
“Who’s being interrogated?”  
  
Stiles will be forever grateful for Derek’s ability to shift Lydia’s focus away from him in a time of crisis. The wolf stands in front of them wearing a disconcertingly tight Henley and a beanie with their truck’s logo on it, while holding a steaming hot basket of onion rings – the aroma wafting up temptingly in the cool fall air.  
  
“Say, Derek, do you happen to know anyone in the immediate vicinity who owns a rather large collection of regularly sharpened knives?” asks Lydia, her voice dangerously low.  
  
Derek’s eyes widen and he shrinks back slightly, “Well… anyone owning a food truck I guess?”  
  
“Anyone specifically coming to mind?” asks Stiles, pilfering an onion ring from the basket in Derek’s hands.  
  
“What’s this about?” Derek finally asks, looking alarmed. “Are there legitimate food truck turf wars or something? Like the Godfather of gourmet food trucks?”  
  
Stiles stops cold and considers the question before looking at Lydia, sharing a commiserating glance full of suspicion.  
  
“Hey guys!” Allison bounces over, carrying a tray of meat on skewers. “Want to try some of our steak samplers? We’re testing them out on professionals before we introduce them to the public,” She innocently holds out the plate of perfectly cooked beef and looks between the three of them encouragingly.  
  
“You know what? I would be delighted” Lydia grins, taking a skewer delicately. “I’ve seen enough pumpkin EVERYTHING for the foreseeable future so I desperately need a change.”  
  
“ _Excuse_ me?” Stiles gasps in mock outrage. “Just because I serve no meat in my truck doesn’t mean I don’t know how to beat my meat.”  
  
Derek chokes on nothing and turns a rather alarming shade of scarlet while Allison bursts out laughing at his scandalized expression, nearly dropping her tray.  
  
“See, this is why we can’t have nice things,” Lydia sighs, running a hand down her face. “I can’t take you anywhere.”  
  
“Actually, now that I have you guys here I just remembered,” says Allison, calming down slightly and wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I was wondering if either of you have any spare balls of steel wool? Our grill is super greasy and dad can’t find any in our truck.”  
  
“Sure,” says Derek, face slowly returning to its normal colour. “We have a few left that are still somewhat clean, if you can stand the smell of old burgers.”  
  
“Thanks! Mom and dad have been trying to change the menu lately and our old grill has been overworked and over-greased for the past week, it’s nasty,” Allison says, wrinkling her nose with disgust. “They want to get the town award for best food truck of the year so they’ve been stepping up their game.”  
  
Stiles grins, “Well they have some solid competition so they better watch out!”  
  
Lydia cocks her head contemplatively, seemingly listening to another conversation, before shaking her head and smiling tightly. “Stiles is right, we haven’t busted our butts for so long just to have you guys and your fancy steaks beat us out!”  
  
“Actually, neither of you will win, but it’s cute that you think you can beat our burgers,” Interjects Derek with a smirk, offering Allison the basket of onion rings. “Trade?”  
  
Allison’s eyes sparkle competitively and she accepts the basket, “Challenge accepted!” And hands over the remaining steak skewers.  
  
~~~  
  
Honestly, it starts out small. The taco truck off of Fifth serving their customers stale and mouldy taco shells that had been fresh the day before, the gelato truck’s freezer mysteriously resetting itself and melting all the produce, and the whole line of ramen trucks perpetually lining the square seem to be losing their stores of noodles at an alarming rate. It’s all innocuous enough to be credited to poor management or even bad luck.  
  
Until one day it isn’t.  
  
The little soup truck in front of the park closes down indefinitely, the local food inspectors deeming it an unsanitary health hazard to the public, but refusing to divulge the reasons why. When Stiles visits them one day to ask why they’re closing, both elderly ladies simply shake their heads in sad confusion.  
  
“Been running this truck with my wife for fifteen years now,” Says Mathilda, shaking her head.  
  
“You know we started out just doing old country recipes and pies and the like but we just found soup to be our calling,” Abby chimes in, packing away their ladles and pots. “Never had any troubles and never got written up by health and safety, no clue why they’ve shut us down now.”  
  
So Stiles bids them a good day and wishes them good luck, promising to pass on the news to his dad to see what can be done.  
  
As soon as he gets home later that evening he tells his dad everything.  
  
“Well, Stiles, if the food inspection wasn’t up to code then they’ll just have to accept it!”  
  
“Yes I am aware of the health and safety regulations but the soup ladies? They _never_ let their kitchen be anything but pristine! It’s like walking into a goddamn Michelin star restaurant for crying out loud!”  
  
The Sheriff looks uncomfortable, and shifts in his armchair, “Well… if it means that much to you I can pop over to their head office tomorrow to see what all the fuss is about. Can’t promise anything will come of it, but I’ll try.”  
  
Stiles grins, “Thanks dad! It doesn’t have to be sketchy like, just ask them if there’s anything the police need to notify the public about. You know? Make it all official! Ask if there’s something that people need to be on guard for, like the plague or a nice case of mad cow disease.”  
  
His dad snorts into his coffee, “Right, because I clearly lead a secret life as an agent of the CDC.”  
  
Stiles brandishes his soup ladle at him menacingly, “Listen pal, for all I know you could be an agent of the food network secretly coming to pull us all into a food truck battle royale and yet here I am, busting my butt to make you some delicious homemade borscht, and you have the audacity to waltz around sassing the world class chef who is your son.”  
  
“Right, so if you’re world class then why doesn’t your cute little food truck have any Michelin stars?”  
  
“Alright, no soup for you! Come back two years!”  
  
“Don’t quote Seinfeld at me! It’s a valid question!”  
  
True to his word, his dad does end up visiting the health and safety office, and finds out exactly… nothing. He is told that the results are “inconclusive” and that “we’re still looking into all the possible routes of contamination”. And so the Sheriff leaves his business card with a promise of returning once the results are available. Stiles is frustrated and Lydia is on edge, Scott is just glad that nothing has happened to Allison’s truck to be truly worried, and Derek is constantly looking over his shoulder as more and more cops are stationed near the food trucks during the day. Everything calms down for a week and people noticeably relax.  
  
~~~  
  
Stiles feels twitchy and mildly off kilter while pulling a customer’s order of spicy roasted cauliflower chunks out of the oven, the warm currents wafting up delicious smells of habanero peppers and peanut oil into the cold fall air. After handing the plate to a guy with a teal Mohawk waiting patiently for his meal, Stiles goes outside to clean up the condiments table. He straightens up the spice rack, wipes down the table, and adds some fresh sauce to the bowls. It’s only after he’s tossed the washcloth into their laundry hamper that he notices the furry black caterpillar inching its way across the table.  
  
A quick glance up and across the square towards where Derek is adding several slices of bacon to a massive cheeseburger leaves Stiles slightly breathless. Derek’s t-shirt sleeves are straining at the edges to contain the deliciously sculpted biceps currently stretching the material. Stiles swallows, mechanically rearranging the condiments, watching raptly as Derek’s shirt rides up – revealing a tantalizing view of the dark treasure trail leading down into his jeans – as the wolf reaches up to grab an order hanging from the cork board.  
  
Stiles tears his eyes back to the caterpillar, industriously making its way towards the mango and corn salsa.  
  
“And why exactly do you need to spend fifty years rearranging the table?” Asks Lydia, smirking from the serving window.  
  
“Because of perfection that’s why,” Stiles grins. “And also because I found one of Derek’s eyebrows out here.”  
  
“What.”  
  
Stiles carefully scoops the caterpillar into his palm, offering it up to Lydia like a sacrifice to a vengeful harvest goddess. “See? He lost an eyebrow and I need to give it back!”  
  
Lydia bursts out laughing and Erica makes her way over to see what the commotion is all about, “What the fuck?”  
  
“Derek misplaced an eyebrow.”  
  
Erica doubles over laughing, nearly knocking one of the mixing bowls onto the floor.  
  
The noise draws Derek’s attention over to the brightly painted food truck across the square, his eyebrows drawing down in confusion and curiosity. Stiles waves jauntily at him and Derek’s eyes narrow suspiciously. So Stiles does what any self-respecting entrepreneur does and snaps a quick photo of the hairy little caterpillar and opens his conversation with Derek.  
  
_Did you lose an eyebrow? – S_  
  
_Did I what now? – D_  
  
_[losteyebrow.jpeg] attached_  
  
_Oh fuck off – D_  
  
_I’ll bring it back to you! Nothing a little glue won’t fix! – S_  
  
Stiles looks up in time to see Derek flip him off while scowling impressively. Laughing, Stiles saunters over to the wolf.  
  
“Aw, c’mon Sourwolf! It was a good joke!” Stiles grins up at him.  
  
Derek blinks slowly at him, clearly unimpressed.  
  
“What was a good joke? Why is Derek’s bitch-face so strong right now?” Laura asks curiously, flipping burgers on the sizzling grill.  
  
“Here!” Stiles carefully holds up the caterpillar for her perusal. “Derek lost an eyebrow and I was just graciously returning it to him!”  
  
Laura positively howls with laughter and then gives Derek a big slobbery kiss on the cheek before going back to man the grill.  
  
“You think you’re so cute don’t you?” Derek says, rolling his eyes fondly.  
  
“Pfft,” Stiles scoffs. “I _know_ I’m cute. I’m cute on a regular day, and you haven’t even seen my other special levels of cute.”  
  
“You have levels of cute?”  
  
“ _Mais oui_! There’s ‘trying out new recipes cute’, there’s also ‘picking my vegetables in organic bliss cute’, and of course there’s the classic ‘being a wildly funny chef who amazes his coworkers cute’. It’s a special skill.”  
  
Derek smirks, “What about the ‘annoying other food truck owners with terrible jokes cute’?”  
  
Stiles waves a hand dismissively, “No I’m that particular brand of cute all the time, I just crank up the charm when it’s with you because you love and appreciate my cuteness so much!”  
  
Stiles’ grin widens when he sees the telltale flush of red spreading up Derek’s ears, while Derek chuckles and ducks his head. _God he’s adorable_ , thinks Stiles, _and god am I in deep_.  
  
“Well,” Derek says, gently picking up the caterpillar from Stiles’ hand. “I will have to find a way to pay you back for returning my eyebrow to me. Seeing as how you took so much time out of your daily cuteness regime to deliver it to me.”  
  
Stiles freezes, his attention locked in on the handsome wolf currently playing with the tiny furry bug scurrying around his palm.  
  
“Oh? Have any ideas Sourwolf?”  
  
Derek gulps nervously before looking up at Stiles, “I was thinking of drinks and a movie? The new _Star Trek_ is playing and I happen to have tickets to the VIP lounge.”  
  
Stiles licks his lips before grinning gleefully, “Derek Hale, are you asking me out on a _date_ for drinks and _Star Trek_?”  
  
The wolf in question flushes bright red, “Yes?”  
  
“Because that sounds like the absolute perfect date,” Stiles says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s like you read my mind!”  
  
Derek visibly relaxes, at least until his sisters cheer at him from the back of the truck.  
  
“Way to go bro!”  
  
“Yeah! It only took you a million years to _finally_ ask him out!”  
  
Derek closes his eyes and rubs a hand down his face, “Well _technically_ he hasn’t said yes yet.”  
  
“Hey,” says Stiles, beckoning Derek closer with a finger. “Come closer so I can give you your answer.”  
  
Derek obediently leans in, his dark eyes fixed intently on Stiles.  
  
“Yes,” Stiles whispers. “I would love to go on a date with you.”  
  
And then Derek’s mind shorts out as Stiles kisses him gently.  
  
When Derek’s mind comes back online he has just enough brainpower to quip back with, “I thought you could only kiss after the first date.”  
  
Stiles laughs at him as he walks back to his truck, “Well now it just guarantees you have to go on a date with me, otherwise we’ll be labelled as the town hussies for breaking with tradition.”  
  
Derek giggles, his eyes crinkling at the corners and the blush spreads down his cheeks, “I can’t argue with that logic.”  
  
“Exactly!”  
  
Derek’s laughter follows him all the way across the square to where Lydia and Erica wait with their heads hanging out the window, clearly having tried to listen in on the entire conversation.  
  
“Are you guys-“  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So you said?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So you guys are finally-“  
  
“ _Yes_!”

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “No Soup For You!” scene I mentioned https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zOpfsGrNvnk


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh! Scott told me this great joke today, wanna hear it? I figured you would appreciate because you have that whole ruggedly attractive lumberjack look about you!”
> 
> Derek’s eyebrows furrow, and he smirks, “Ruggedly attractive you say?”
> 
> Stiles flushes, “Obviously.”
> 
> “Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you for all the wonderful comments and words of encouragement from everyone! It's such a fun AU to write and I'm glad you're all enjoying it :)  
> Secondly, I am SO SORRY for how late this was. I know I said I would try and post this before the weekend but life happened and work happened and I got delayed. Thank you for reading and hopefully I'll stay more on schedule with posting the next few chapters!
> 
> xoxoxoxoxoxo

Two days later on a cool Friday night, Stiles has never been so excited for a date in his entire life. Well, excited with a healthy dose of mind blowing terror. 

“I have nothing to wear!” Stiles moans, sifting through the mountain of clothes that have been haphazardly dumped on his bed in his quest to find The Perfect Outfit. “How do I own so much plaid?”

Scott chuckles from his seat in the plush beanbag in the corner of the room, “Well its like, your signature fashion style you know? Like how I always wear a leather jacket!”

“Yes but see you look cool wearing leather. I, on the other hand, look like I’m trying and failing to be an extra on the set of Sons of Anarchy.”

“Probably because you’re not the least bit threatening.”

“Hey! I am a perfect amount of threatening for the amount of plaid I wear.”

“So… not threatening at all then?”

“Yeah basically.”

Scott eyeballs the pile of clothes and sniffs delicately, “Well if he likes you so much then why does it matter what you wear? You already know he’s into you so just wear something comfortable.”

Stiles scoffs, “Right, so if you ever gather the courage to ask Allison out on a real date you’re saying you wouldn’t be worried about your outfit at all?”

Scott flushes, “Okay, point taken.”

“Speaking of which,” Stiles continues nonchalantly. “She’s been coming around the truck more often. I wonder why?”

Scott snaps to attention and flails in the beanbag, “What? Really? Has she said anything about me?”

“Well I think she thought you worked at the truck at first,” says Stiles, gleefully cataloguing his best friend’s reactions. “Because she’d stop by whenever. But now she tends to drop by later in the afternoon if she thinks you’ll be around. Would you like me to tell her where you work so she can just visit you there?”

“NO!” yelps Scott, looking mortified. “She can’t know that I spend most of my days cleaning up animal poop and getting puked on!”

“Relax Scottie, she’ll be ecstatic because you work with puppies and kittens and all sorts of other cute animals.”

“Stiles you think that massive violent iguana we’re rehabilitating is cute.”

“He is! Just in a way that veers away from more traditionally cute pets!”

Scott raises an eyebrow sceptically, “You’re nuts but I love you bro.”

“Thanks!” Then, Stiles smirking impishly, asks, “So, just to clarify, you’re saying I shouldn’t give her your number the next time she comes over?”

Scott pauses before tackling him into the pile of clothes littering the floor and pins Stiles to the ground, and then lifts Stiles’ shirt to give the human the loudest possible raspberry on his stomach. 

“Scottie stop! Oh god!” Stiles gasps, laughing and squirming uselessly against his friend’s superior werewolf strength. 

“If you ever pass up the opportunity to give her my number I will steal your Star Wars box set and run it over with my motorcycle,” Scott growls playfully, before renewing his tickle attack on Stiles belly.

“I’ll box your ears wolf boy!”

“What on earth are you two doing?” Asks the Sheriff, exasperated and leaning casually against the doorframe. “I thought you were going out on a date with Derek, but if you wanna get naked with Scott you might wanna call off the date first.”

“Dad!”

“Sheriff!”

“Well! Just saying! Besides, I thought you were meeting him at six? You realize you have less than half an hour to get dressed and over there,” his dad looks sceptically around the room. “And please tell me you won’t be wearing plaid on a first date.”

Stiles scoffs from where he’s still pinned under Scott, “Honestly, it’s like you two have no fashion sense whatsoever.”

The Sheriff rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “Excuse me but between the three of us, who’s the only one not single?”

“Oh my god dad!”

“Bro! That’s my mom you’re talking about!”

The Sheriff tips his head back and laughs, “Here, wear those dark jeans and this shirt.” Gesturing to a dark red shirt hanging off the swivel chair, before navigating the sea of discarded fabric to grab a pair of black jeans. “Make sure to wear better shoes when you leave, those ugly ass sneakers just won’t cut it for a first date.” And without further ado, strolls casually out of the room. 

“He’s right you know,” says Scott, picking himself up off the floor and offering a hand down to Stiles. “Those sneakers are barely dress code for pig wrestling and you probably wouldn’t have thought twice about wearing them on a date.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, grinning at his friend as he hoists himself up. 

“Besides, they smell rank.”

“Hey it’s not my fault your fancy wolfy senses are so delicate.”

Scott snaps his head up, looking alert, “That reminds me! You should probably tell Derek about me and the rest of the pack. He probably doesn’t know that you know about werewolves.”

Stiles grins from where he’s shimmying into the aforementioned jeans inside the walk-in closet, “Yeah you’re right, but how many wolf related puns do you think I can make before he gets suspicious?”

Scott guffaws loudly as he starts to fold and put away the rejected clothes, “Bro you could probably make it through the entire date before he said anything, he would be jittery as hell though! All you’d have to do is keep a totally straight face and he would buy it.”

After pulling on the red shirt and looking critically at himself in the mirror Stiles steps out into the room, “Well? How do I look?” he smoothes out the wrinkles of the shirt, smelling anxious. “Not as dashing as my usual fashion choice of plaid it’ll do.”

Scott smiles like a ray of sunshine, “Dude you look good! Wait, hang on.” And then runs downstairs haphazardly. 

Stiles has just enough time to grab his keys and wallet before Scott comes barrelling back into the room with his trusty leather jacket, “Here! Wear this, it’ll be good luck and it makes you look good!”

Stiles takes it reverently into his hands, “Are you sure? Dude this is like, the lucky leather jacket… you’re never not wearing it!”

“It’s all good! I want you to wear it! Just,” Scott grimaces. “Don’t get lucky in my lucky jacket.”

“Bro you’re the best!”

“I know I know, well get going! You’ve only got like twenty minutes to get there!”

“Alright! Geeze, I’m going!” says Stiles as he lets Scott shoo him out the door towards his jeep. 

“So, just a quick question,” Stiles grins mischievously as he starts up his car. “If I do get lucky in this jacket… does that mean I get to keep it?”

He only gets to enjoy Scott’s mixed expression of disgust and mock outrage for a moment before pealing out of the driveway at top speed, laughing his way down the street. 

~~~

Stiles is waiting inside the theater, leaning against a ticket machine near the entrance, slightly nervous that Derek might have stood him up. His date is nearly twenty five minutes late and if they don’t get to their reserved seats on time then they won’t be let into the VIP section once the movie starts dammit! Stiles huffs out an impatient breath and checks his watch for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes. 

Just when he starts to lose hope he hears the telltale roar of Derek’s aging pickup truck speeding into the parking lot, coughing up alarming amounts of smoke. Stiles grins to himself as he watches the wolf all but fall out of the vehicle in his haste to get inside on time, Derek’s face flushed and his eyes wide as he all but runs to the entrance of the theater.

Opening the door almost right into Stiles’ face is a near miss. 

“Jesus, and here I thought I was gonna have to be the loser to see a movie all on my lonesome,” Stiles quips, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. 

“I am so sorry!” says Derek, breathing raggedly. “My truck isn’t exactly reliable on a good day and the stupid thing wouldn’t start. Laura had to bring the goddamn food truck over to jump start it.”

Stiles chuckles at the frustrated expression on Derek’s face, “Hey as long as I don’t get stood up it’s all good.”

“Stiles,” Derek begins, his face suddenly serious. “I would never stand you up.”

The human stills, his face heating up at being so transparent. “Yeah well,” Stiles nervously runs a hand through his hair, “You wouldn’t be the first person to have stood me up.”

The wolf glowers, “Well those people are idiots, c’mon! We don’t want to miss the movie!” and grabs Stiles hand to bring him to the ticket kiosk. 

Now, Stiles likes to think he’s an intelligent human being. Emphasis on the ‘human being’ part, and after so much time spent in Scott’s ragtag pack of misfit werewolves he should really have considered how much wolf behaviour would factor into his date with Derek. After their tickets are scanned and they’ve settled into their seats, Stiles notices that Derek has been – what the wolf imagines as subtly – sniffing him. 

“What is it?”

Derek scowls and turns away, a flush dusting his cheekbones in the low light of the theater, “Nothing, just didn’t know you liked leather jackets. I thought plaid was more your signature style.”

Stiles – to his credit – doesn’t laugh outright in Derek’s face at the outrageous lie, fully intending to milk his date’s obliviousness to the max. “Yeah well I thought I might spruce myself up a bit, make an effort you know? I mean I don’t know if you know this, but,” Stiles leans in and winks conspiratorially. “I’m going on this date tonight with this super hot guy and I wanna impress him.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but leans in nonetheless to play along, “Damn, I have even more competition?”

Stiles throws his head back and laughs delightedly, missing the soft look Derek sends his way. Once the waitress has taken their orders and they have their cocktails in hand, Stiles takes the jacket off and lays it over the back of the seat. He doesn’t miss Derek’s eyes tracking the movements like a hawk. 

“What is it?” Stiles asks, the picture of innocence. 

“Nothing.”

“It can’t be nothing, you look like you just smelled dog poop on your shoe.”

“… Well it’s not nothing per se.”

Stiles dimly recognizes he shouldn’t enjoy teasing Derek as much as he is, but he just can’t help it. 

“So how hungry are you? Because I’m so hungry I’ll probably just wolf down my food!” 

Derek chokes on his drink and tries to play it cool, while Stiles wonders why he never considered acting as a career. 

“I’m… pretty hungry,” Derek admits, keeping a blank face. 

“Same!” Stiles smirks to himself. “I hope they keep the same kind of humour for this movie, the last one had me howling! God I love the cheesy jokes they use.”

Now Derek looks like he’s two seconds away from having a stroke, his bushy eyebrows drawn up and Stiles can see the whites of his eyes. He looks like he’s about to bolt. 

So Stiles decides to take pity on him, well, a little bit. 

“Oh! Scott told me this great joke today, wanna hear it? I figured you would appreciate because you have that whole ruggedly attractive lumberjack look about you!”

Derek’s eyebrows furrow, and he smirks, “Ruggedly attractive you say?”

Stiles flushes, “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Anyways, what do you call a lumberjack werewolf?” Stiles pauses for dramatic effect. “A timber wolf!”

Derek nearly snorts his drink out his nose, whether from laughing or choking Stiles can’t tell. It’s time he puts Derek out of his misery. 

“Okay but seriously,” Stiles looks around surreptitiously, scanning the crowd for anyone listening in. “I know about your secret.”

Derek’s hands clench around his drink, “Oh?” he says noncommittally. Stiles realizes the wolf is being dangerously reserved, so he leans in until his mouth is right beside Derek’s left ear. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve been running with wolves since highschool. It’s no big deal.”

Now that gets Derek’s attention.

“What?” the wolf asks flatly. 

“Sorry for teasing you for so long but honestly? The amount of wolf puns I could make? It’s a never-ending source of amusement for me and I couldn’t resist messing with you. Scott said it would be a bad idea and he was probably right, now that I think about it,” Stiles looks into Derek’s eyes, only just realizing how close their faces are. He takes a deep breath and continues, “Scott and a few other of our friends were bitten by a rogue alpha back in highschool, so we have our own mismatched pack. I’m human though, but Erica and Isaac and Boyd are betas. Oh and Lydia is a banshee. Lydia’s ex Jackson is a beta but he moved to England for university and hasn’t come back.”

Derek honestly looks like he’s about to keel over, “Oh thank god. I thought you were a hunter playing the long con with me.”

Stiles scoffs, “Do I look like I could take down a werewolf? Come on dude. And besides, don’t think I didn’t notice the weird scenting thing you wolves do.”

Derek bristles, “Well it’s kinda awkward when your date shows up wearing another alpha’s jacket. Dampens the mood a little bit.”

Stiles blinks, understanding dawning, “Oh shit. I didn’t even think about that!”. He flails as he takes the jacket off the back of his seat and stuffs it under his chair on the floor. Derek relaxes though, nostrils flaring as he smells the more concentrated scent of just Stiles. 

“Scott’s been my alpha for years so I didn’t even think anything about how that would look,” Stiles says awkwardly. “I can, um, run and get a new shirt from the mall real quick if you want-“

“No!” Derek says quickly, clearly embarrassed at his instincts. “No you don’t have to, I just didn’t realize Scott of all people was an alpha.”

Stiles laughs at that, “I know right? He’s like the most chill person ever so no one ever thinks he’s the big kahuna. I mean he works at the freaking vet’s office for crying out loud.”

Derek laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “So I guess he wouldn’t like me calling him Dr. Alpha Dolittle?”

Stiles has to quickly stuff a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing.

“Here,” says Derek, tossing his own leather jack over Stiles’ lap. “The VIP section gets cold.”

“Subtle. Very subtle Hale.”

“I thought so.”

“Scent marking is such a big thing and I have no idea why- “ but Stiles’ sentence cuts off abruptly with a gasp as Derek noses into the soft skin of his neck, just below his ear. “On second thought I’m starting to understand what the big appeal is of scent marking.”

“Hmmmm, is that so?”

“I’ll have to do some more research obviously, you know, gather more date,” Stiles says breathlessly, squirming in his seat as Derek runs his nose down to where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder, mouthing at the soft skin and humming softly. “How would you like to be my – ah! – my research buddy?”

Derek’s eyes flash gold as he grins wolfishly, “Set thrusters to full.”

“Um… excuse me? Here’s, um, your… food.”

Derek smoothly leans away from Stiles to take the plates of food handed to them by a rather flustered looking young waitress, calmly handing Stiles his meal while the human waits for his brain to come back online. 

“That was payback for all the wolf puns wasn’t it?”

Derek hums thoughtfully, “Maybe. Maybe I just like how you smell.”

“That was… weirdly romantic.”

“I have my moments.”

Stiles looks at Derek and they both stifle their giggles as the movie starts to play. 

~~~

Derek watches Stiles flail his hands around as they leave the theater, smiling at the human struggling to get back into his jacket.

Shit I have it bad, Derek muses, snorting when Stiles nearly falls down the stairs in his haste to explain the mechanisms of space travel. 

“Just a question,” Derek asks impishly. “Do you ever not talk a mile a minute?”

Stiles snorts, “Well it’s not my fault I’m a fun and zesty conversational partner, some of us have to carry on a decent conversation and between the two of us I just happen to know more about space travel.”

Derek throws his head back and laughs, “So why didn’t you go into acting? It seems more like something you’d be suited for.”

“Too much pressure.”

“And running your own business on wheels isn’t?”

“Yes it is, but! The difference is that I’m my own boss and I make the menu. It’s like acting but instead of making a movie I make delicious food. So it’s the same thought process just with a different outcome. That and faking it isn’t my style.”

The wolf blinks, “I’ve… never thought of it that way.”

“You gotta think outside the box mi amigo.”

“So Lydia isn’t your boss then?” Derek asks, confused. 

Stiles shrugs then slides his arm through Derek’s, “Surprisingly no, and I’m not her boss either. We’re equal partners in the business. We just handle different aspects of it. I mean I’m great with math and budgeting and she can cook really well, but it’s more of a matter of where our passions are. Realistically I could probably run the whole show on my own but Lydia runs a tight ship and has business contacts from her schooling and through her parents. I have my experience from culinary school and working in restaurants so I know how the food industry needs to be run to be successful.”

Derek pulls Stiles closer, “So, you guys just up and made your own food truck after all that?”

“Basically! I mean I love the organized chaos and craziness of a professional restaurant but to be honest, I’ve never really liked taking orders from people or being told to cook a certain way.”

“What’s this? The son of the sheriff doesn’t like taking orders? What a shock,” Derek says sarcastically. 

Stiles turns to him and widens his eyes dramatically, “Uh excuse me sir? I am a model law abiding citizen!”

“Mhmm, you forget that both your dad and deputy Parrish both come to my food truck.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I know all about you ordering a pizza to the station while behind bars for underage drinking, Mr. law abiding citizen.”

Stiles splutters and elbows Derek gently, “Hey! That was one time!”

Derek laughs as he walks Stiles to his jeep.

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? Your truck looks like it’s going to die a violent death if you start it up.”

Derek glowers over at his truck, “I really should get a new car. I’ve had that one since highschool.”

Stiles whistles appreciatively, “And it’s held up for this long? That’s impressive.”

“I originally wanted to be a mechanic so I took good care of it,” Derek shrugs nonchalantly. “Ended up liking cooking more so I decided to combine two careers into one.”

Stiles wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, “So if I needed repairs done to my jeep then could I offer sexy favours as payment?”

The wolf sputters and turns bright red, “What kind of porn have you been watching?”

“The good kind,” purrs Stiles, moving into Derek’s personal space. “So.”

“So.”

“Where’s my first date kiss?”

“Technically we already had it.”

“Well if this was a traditional date Mr. Hale then we would be kissing.”

Derek slowly leans in, “Oh really?” He doesn’t miss the way Stiles eyes darken, sweeping down in a slow once-over of his muscular form. 

Stiles gulps, “Really.”

“Well,” Derek purrs. “I’d better stick to tradition.”

He leans in towards Stiles, keeping his eyes on the human’s plush lips. The heady scent of lingering coconut oil and something uniquely Stiles fills his nose, making the scent of Stiles’ arousal spike all the more sharply in such close proximity. Their lips touch in a surprisingly chaste kiss, pressing together gently. Stiles hums happily and leans into Derek’s arms, the wolf’s hands going down to the human’s hips and pulling them closer. Stiles snakes his arms up and around Derek’s neck to pull their bodies together, carding his long fingers through Derek’s hair and tugging gently. 

When Derek moans at the feeling of Stiles’ fingers combing through his hair the kiss deepens, Derek pressing forward insistently and slotting their mouths together for a deeper kiss. Stiles’ gently nips at Derek’s lower lip, drawing a growl from the wolf and causing him to back Stiles up against the jeep, pinning a knee between the human’s legs as he goes. Derek runs his tongue against the seam of Stiles’ lips, asking permission, before Stiles’ tongue meets him in a hot, wet kiss. 

Derek feels his claws elongating, and slips his thumbs into the waistband of Stiles’ jeans to feel the soft skin there. Stiles draws in a startled breath, his scent intensifying with arousal, and groans helplessly. 

“You know, technically I could book you both for public indecency.”

Stiles hastily pulls away from Derek’s luscious mouth with a wet pop, “Excuse me but I’m a bit busy here!”

Deputy Parrish smirks out the window of his cruiser, “Yes, I can see that. But seriously get a room you two, you have an audience out here.”

Stiles flushes and glances surreptitiously around the parking lot, seeing several couples laughing discretely at their PDA on their way into the theater. 

“Well… well! How about you get a room!” Stiles splutters indignantly, blushing brilliantly. 

Jordan laughs as he drives away and out of the parking lot.

“Well…”

“Yeah that was…”

“Right!?”

Derek laughs, “I think I’ll try my truck for a ride back. I need some time to calm down.” He discretely wiggles his fingers between them, claws still extended. 

Stiles grins, “Alright, I’ll stay until you get it started just in case it needs another breath of life.”

“Thanks,” says Derek, kissing Stiles gently on the cheek. 

Derek’s truck does start, even if Stiles spends the entire time making thinly veiled comments about “revving Derek’s engine” and watching the wolf get progressively more and more flustered. 

Damn, I’ve got it bad, Stiles muses on the ride home.


End file.
